We were an hour into our conversation when I realized it.
If heaven ain't a lot like Georgia, I bet George Washington Carver is really sulking right now.
I don't watch television much, according to this week's column.
My father-in-law would sometimes tell of a story of an obituary he read once.
It was like deja vu all over again.
This, as stated above, is an open letter to the person who stole my jacket. While I don't know who you are exactly, you know who you are (I hope), and if you are the person who stole my jacket and are reading this, this open letter is directed at you (or someone who knows you and will turn you in).
I was on the telephone with a salesman from the North (Atlanta) the other day, when he mentioned something that caught me off guard, which is where I usually am anyway.
There's a difference in being stupid and being senile.
As I've said in this space before, I am afraid of pickles.
I love to skimp. I get giddy with delight when I save some coin.
For my daughter's 15th birthday last week, her present from her mother and I was a new phone.
My wife is out of town for a couple of days, which means a couple of things.
Two of my favorite things in this world are convenience stores and spare change.
When I was about 6 years old, I told my parents of my lifelong ambition.
Don't they watch "The Andy Griffith Show" in Texas?
Baseball was my first love.
I was on the couch, chewing on a straw, watching the zillionth commercial where a middle-aged man takes a pill and he's suddenly happy as all get-out, when my 11-year-old son approached my throne.
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